Confessions of a Bootlicker: Queen of the Hill

So what happens when it comes to a first ever experience? For most kids, it starts with a 'Show me yours, I'll show you mine' kind of thing. A harmless enough game. Once they're old enough to really understand what's going on, there can be games of house, or of doctor. Then dating, then making out; I don't know the usual path. I didn't follow the usual path.

I didn't follow the usual path because I'm one of them kinky folk. And kinky folk have something a little bit different. Like this story of mine.

Queen of the Hill

It was, as far as I knew, our first new house. And it was a completely new house. I got to visit while it was being built, got to walk through what would one day be walls, and knew when I moved in that no one had ever lived in my bedroom but me.

Around the time we moved in, so did the family next door. They had a split level house, also freshly built, and their lawn was just as much an empty lot of dirt as ours was. They were the first family we met in the neighborhood. There was a boy, Andrew, who was about my age. And there was a girl, Stacy, who was a year younger than me.

Stacy was a tomboy, and we hit it off right away. When they laid sod on our lawn, turning it to a lush green mat while theirs was still dirty and rocky, it became a normal thing for her to come over and us to play.

We were together all day every day. We played tag, we explored the little strip of woods behind both our houses, and we just generally spent time together. Stacy was always more athletic than me, and always seemed to catch me when we played tag. But somehow, that didn't bother me.

As her lawn started to come in, our chasing and racing around stretched across both lots. With grass growing on the steep hill behind her house, we had the opportunity for a whole new type of play, a whole new game. We could wrestle at the top of the hill, and the winner could throw the loser down to roll all the way down.

Stacy told me she was going to kick my ass. She taunted me, saying that I was going to end up rolling down the hill in defeat. She even said I would be beaten and humiliated.

I was at a loss for words. I didn't know what to say back because I didn't want to admit the truth: I was hoping that she was right. I was excited for her to kick my ass. I was hoping she would beat me and humiliate me.

At that moment, I saw Stacy differently than I'd ever seen her before. It suddenly occurred to me that the tight shorts she was wearing didn't just make it impossible for her to put anything in her pockets. They shaped around the curve of her ass. The roll at the bottom drew the eyes to the athletic curve of her legs. Her skin had that natural tan that comes from being outside and active. Her shirt was tight where it needed to be, and when she raised her hands and made fists, ready to fight, it lifted a little bit and showed me a flash of skin with her belly button. The smirk on her face had different meaning, the wild mess of her hair had become a halo of flame. The converse sneakers suddenly had a more badass look to them, the curves of her feet were suddenly something that mattered, and the fact that she wasn't wearing socks added to it all.

Then she took a swing and landed a punch on my arm. “Hey!” she said. “You okay?”

I rubbed my shoulder, though the hit wasn't hard. I blushed and put up my own hands, ready to defend myself. “Bring it on.” That was the best I could come up with.

Stacy hopped around on the balls of her feet, ducking and weaving while I stood there and watched her. My eyes were on her bouncing feet, and it was only when she stopped moving that I was able to tear my eyes away. I looked up at her just in time to see her fist coming towards me, and I barely ducked in time. She had taken a swing right at my face.

And I didn't care.

I made a lazy swing back, trying to punch her in the shoulder. She darted towards me, so close that I felt like I could feel her body heat for just an instant before her fist connected with my stomach.

It was more shock than anything else that threw off my balance, and it was desire as much as it was shock that made me drop to my knees in front of her.

She asked if I was okay. I grabbed her legs and pulled her off her feet. She fell with a blast of air, which was quickly followed with a fit of giggles.

She called me a name. I let her go. She got her feet under herself and tackled me. I hit the ground hard. Soon she was straddling me, kneeling on my arms, her crotch closer to my face than any pussy had been since I came out of one.

I made a show of struggling, and probably could have bucked her off if I really wanted to. I'll never know.

She smirked down at me, hands on her hips. “You know I could beat the shit out of you right now,” she said, her tone completely conversational.

“You can,” I said. And I meant it in every possible way.

“What was it I promised you?” She grinned and sat back on my chest.

“Beaten, humiliated, and ass kicked,” I said, a little bit of a laugh in my voice.

She nodded.

I smiled.

She twisted at the waist and punched me in the balls. Not all that hard, but it made me jump, and it was the first time I'd ever been touched down there. She looked at me and smiled again.

“That count?” she asked.

I tried to shrug. “That is a beating,” I said.

She shook her head. “No it isn't. That's just one hit.”

Then she turned again and hit me in the balls, harder this time. I gasped, and she hit me again. And again. And again. I coughed, my eyes clenched tight in pain. I hissed out my agony when she pounded me over and over.

When she finally stopped, she was breathing heavily. She got off my arms, and I curled up in fetal position, trying to breathe and trying not to cry.

“That,” she said, “is a beating.” She laughed. “Right?”

I nodded, clutching the source of the greatest pain I'd ever felt.

“And beaten up by a girl. That's got to be humiliating.”

I nodded again.

“But not enough.”

She pressed her foot to my head, nudging my face away from its curled position. “Kiss my toe,” she said. “Or I'll keep beating you.”

It was a more difficult decision than I expected, though not because I choosing the lesser of two evils. I wanted her to do both.

“Kiss,” she said, her voice still filled with laughter.

I pressed my lips to the rubber toe of her all stars.

She laughed, then moved her foot, pressing the sole against my cheek, pressing it gently into the ground. She seemed to be considering something.

“Now it counts,” she said, pulling her foot away and giving me a kick to the chest, sending me rolling down the hill.

I tumbled down, each time I hit the ground blasting more pain through my body. I made a lot of noise, some of it grunts, some of it gasps and moans. I had to make sure I stopped rolling on my chest. Otherwise, Stacy would have known how I was feeling long before she got to the bottom.

“You okay?” she asked, out of breath. Her skin was flushed, and her lips were curled in a smile that looked like it wasn't going anywhere.

“Uh huh,” I said.

“Did I hurt you?”

I laughed. “It was fun.”

She set her feet apart and put her hands on her hips. “That's not a no.”

“It definitely hurt,” I said. “But it was still fun.”

“Yeah. You wanna play again?”

“Just give me a second,” I said, trying to catch my breath still.

“No.”

I didn't want to roll over yet, didn't want her to see how much fun I'd had. “What was it you thought about doing?” I asked. “You seemed like you were thinking about something when you were standing on my face.”

She chuckled. “I was thinking of spitting on you.”

She laughed again as she saw a shiver run down my body.

“Next time, then,” she said. She helped me to my feet. Her eyes darted down, and I blushed with whatever blood I had to spare. She smirked. “Definitely next time.”